


Come Hell or High Water

by rowdyhooligan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Non Graphic Description of Injuries, Swearing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 20:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowdyhooligan/pseuds/rowdyhooligan
Summary: The reader has a lesson to teach Arthur Ketch: love can be the most dangerous emotion of all.





	Come Hell or High Water

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from tumblr: requested by @marril96: I’ll let you surprise me with details, if that’s okay. Just Rowena x reader, established relationship, both witches, reader takes care of badly injured Rowena, and plenty of dialogue. Would that be okay? Where Ketch tortures her and reader saves her? And then there’s the aftercare and Rowena being a stubborn and proud bitch we all love and reader being equally stubborn? :D

The most important thing to remember was to remain calm…

…at least, that’s what you told yourself. Following the sound of her screams, though, made the task a little more challenging. Seething anger roiled in your belly- the same anger you’d felt since the moment she’d been taken. It demanded blood and pain and vengeance, and you were all too willing to oblige.

Taking a deep breath, you forced down the rage, creeping through the empty halls of Crowley’s old headquarters. The death of the former King of Hell had left a power vacuum, one that the last remaining Prince had been quick to take advantage of. The shapeshifting bastard had taken Crowley’s form and lured your lover into a trap, using the guise of her own son against her.

Guilt surged through you, the shame of allowing her to be taken, of not being there when she needed you. But there was no sense in wallowing in your guilt now- it wouldn’t help save Rowena. When the time came, you’d do everything in your power to make it up to her, but until then, there was work to be done.

Fortune smiled on you as you made your way to the dungeons; Asmodeus was away, leaving few demons present. They were dispatched with ease, falling one by one as you lashed out with your magic, vicious satisfaction surging through you with each kill. But you didn’t dare dawdle, all too aware that the Prince could return at any moment, sealing your- and Rowena’s- fate. Even with your formidable skills, you were no match for the demon.

At last, the dungeons came into view. Edging closer, you flattened yourself against the wall, carefully peeking around the door frame. Your eyes widened in shock as you stared at the man looming over your lover: Arthur Ketch was supposed to be dead. The last you’d heard, Mary Winchester had rid the world of the pompous sociopath, putting a bullet between those cold eyes. But- as tended to be the case when the Winchesters were involved- it appeared he hadn’t  _stayed_ dead. If he was here, odds were good Asmodeus had something to do with his resurrection. And from the look of things, the Brit was acting as his attack dog.

Ketch stood off to the side, his back to you as he casually perused a table full of torture instruments. Your petite witch was chained to the wall, arms outstretched above her, thick manacles binding her wrists. Runes meant to suppress magic covered the walls and ceiling, as well as the cuffs chafing at Rowena’s skin. Even at a distance, it was easy to make out the many bruises and cuts covering her skin, fresh blood staining her clothes.

As you looked on, he seemed to settle on an instrument, torch light glinting off of the blade in his hands. He turned towards Ro, an exaggerated look of regret on his face. “It’s a shame matters have come to this, but needs must. You present too great a risk to the new regime, I’m afraid, and we simply can’t have that. After all, any witch capable of summoning Lucifer from his Cage can’t be allowed to do as she pleases. Not to mention the small fact that the Winchesters are bound to call on you for help putting an end to my…benefactor.”

“I’ve already told you,” she said, her lilting voice weak and reedy, “I’m no threat to you. I’m done with this life, and with the Winchesters. All I want is to be left alone.”

“Yes, so you’ve mentioned. But I’m afraid we can’t take any chances- you understand.” He took a step closer, smiling when she flinched away, her chains rattling. “Of course, before we’re forced to say our goodbyes, there’s still the matter of your lover. Our spies claim she was away when you were brought in, and no one can find hide nor hair of her. It would be greatly appreciated if you could share her whereabouts, and perhaps save yourself a bit of painful incentive.”

“I’ll never tell you,” Rowena spat out, “no matter what you may do to me.”

“You know, people always say that…until the pain starts,” he smirked, toying with the blade in his hands. “Let’s test that resolve, shall we?”

“Keep your fucking hands off of her,” you commanded, voice cold with rage. Stepping into view, you itched to wipe the smug look from his face.

“Ah, so our quarry has come to us. That’s thoughtful of you.”

“Step back,” you demanded, moving further into the room, circling to stand in front of Rowena.

She looked up at you, hope and relief on her face. “I knew you would come for me.”

“Of course, Ro. I couldn’t let them get away with taking you, hurting you,” you said over your shoulder, keeping your eyes on Ketch. “Don’t worry, I’ll get us out of here.”

“How very romantic,” he drawled, “but I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

“Try and stop us.”

“Perhaps you missed the rune work on the walls.”

Reaching into your pocket, you leveled the concealed revolver at his chest, drawing back the hammer. “Who said anything about magic?”

Ketch straightened, his hands coming up as the smirk melted from his face. “Yes, well, that is a rather compelling argument, I’ll admit. But…do you actually have what it takes to pull the trigger? I’ve read your file…I know all about you. And you? You’re no murderer. Demons and monsters are one thing, but you’ve never killed another human- I doubt you’re about to start now. So, why not lower your weap-”

You fired, a loud pop echoing off the stone walls. Ketch let out a pained cry, clutching at the bullet wound in his shoulder. Cocking the gun again, you said, “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me. Now, you’re going to take those cuffs off her and put them on, or you’re gonna get another bullet to the head- your choice.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under from the glare he leveled your way. “Little bitch!”

“Yes, I am. Now do as I say, unless you’re willing to gamble on Asmodeus resurrecting you a second time.”

Hand stained red with blood, he fished a set of keys from his jacket. You kept the gun trained on him as he unlocked Rowena’s chains. Ketch yelped in pain when she yanked his arms up, securing the cuffs around his wrists, binding them tight enough to bruise. Snatching the bloody keys from his hands, she eyed him a moment, before reaching down and squeezing his injured shoulder.

She smiled viciously at the sound of his screams. “I hope you rot in here.”

“Ro, we need to get out,” you urged, laying a gentle hand on her arm.

She allowed herself to be led away, but not before ripping off a piece of her ruined gown and using it as a makeshift gag for Ketch. Pocketing the keys, you slammed the door shut behind you and headed for the exit, wrapping an arm around Rowena’s waist to steady her. She managed to keep pace with you, though the strain of it was visible on her face. Now that it was just the two of you, she allowed herself to be vulnerable, sliding into the passenger seat of your rental with a pained grunt.

The tires squealed on the pavement as you floored it out of there, anxious to get as much distance as possible between you and the old asylum before Asmodeus returned. There was no doubt he’d be out for blood when he discovered what happened, and you wanted Rowena somewhere safe. Keeping a watchful eye on her, you drove for several hours, only stopping once night had fallen.

Pulling into the parking lot of a nondescript hotel, you let Rowena doze in the car while you booked a room for the two of you. Fortunately, your dark clothing hid the bloodstains left from Rowena’s wounds, and you were checked in within minutes. Key card in hand, you hurried back to the car, unwilling to leave her unguarded for even a moment longer than necessary. She still slept when you returned, face drawn against the pain of her injuries.

Tapping softly on the glass, you managed to rouse her from her uneasy rest. She slid out of the car, wincing when she landed on her feet. Making a note to check her ankles for a sprain, you grabbed a bag of supplies from the trunk. Inside were the ingredients for any number of spells, as well as hex bags for concealment and a first aid kit. A small suitcase full of clothes was your only other possession; there’d been no time to pack anything more before you were hot on the trail of her captors.

Maneuvering her to drape an arm across your shoulders, you grabbed the bags and the two of you slowly made your way to your room. The trip was fraught with anxiety; you expected an attack at any moment, only able to breathe a sigh of relief once the door was safely shut behind you. Rowena- apparently out of patience with needing your help- slipped her arm free despite your protests and hobbled to the bed, sinking onto it with a grateful sigh.

Biting back a reprimand, you pulled out a marker and set to work covering the walls with Devil’s traps and protective sigils, placing hex bags in every corner of the room. Housekeeping would have a fit when you checked out, but there was no way you would risk Rowena’s safety- not again. Only when every available surface was covered were you satisfied, turning to dig through the bags for the first aid kit.

“How did you find me?”

Kit in hand, you perched on the bed beside her. “It wasn’t hard. Once I found out who was responsible, it was easy enough to trap a demon and torture it for information.”

“My wee savage,” she snorted, leaning back against the headboard with a wince, “so bloodthirsty.”

“Damn straight,” you confirmed with a solemn nod, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”

“Spare me my blushes,” she joked with a pained smile.

You patted your lap. “Come on, let me take a look at your ankles- don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were limping. And we need to disinfect those cuts while we’re at it; there’s no telling how many people have bled in those dungeons.”

“I’m fine, dear, don’t worry that pretty head.”

“Yeah, you’re fine…until you’ve got a fever and can hardly walk because of a broken bone.”

She grumbled half heartedly, reluctantly letting you take hold of her feet. Gently prodding at the dirt streaked skin, you felt for any breaks or sprains, relieved when there were none. “I want to wrap that left ankle just to be safe, but it looks like everything’s okay.”

“I could have told you that,” she tsked. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Why don’t you save the ‘I told you so’ until  _after_  I’m done checking you over, hmm?”

She rolled her eyes, but kept most of her comments to herself while you helped her out of her blood stained clothes, fetching a bowl of warm water and washcloths to wipe away the dirt and grime from the dungeons. Once she was clean, you finished checking her many injuries. You’d occasionally hear her muttering in Gaelic, the words too soft for you to make out, though her tone made the meaning clear.

Rowena began fidgeting, impatient with your ministrations, and the restless squirming only worsened when you began applying antiseptic to her wounds. Fortunately, none of them required stitches, but that did nothing to stop her from complaining about the sting. The more she shifted and twitched and huffed, the more your sense of relief began to war with exasperation, though you were careful to keep your touch gentle.

“Could you sit still, please? I’m almost done.”  

“Darling, much as I appreciate the gesture, I don’t need you to check every little bump and bruise- I’m _fine_. A hot bath, a cup of tea, and something to eat, and I’ll be right as rain.”

Like Hell she was fine. Pursing your lips at her stubborn insistence, you forced yourself to take a calming breath and said, “Ro, I know you don’t like to rely on anyone, but please let me do this for you.”

She deflated, the irritation leaving her. “Very well,” she conceded, “but only because it’s you.”

“How gracious of you.”

She was quiet while you finished bandaging her injuries, though she couldn’t keep from wincing at some of the deeper cuts. Once you were done, you gathered up the dirty washcloths and ruined clothes- there was no way they could be salvaged. Tossing them into the trash bin, you grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar, insisting that Rowena drink. Wrapped up in the hotel bathrobe, she complied, finally allowing you to dote on her.

With a call to room service, a hearty dinner was delivered up to your room; you watched Rowena like a hawk, ensuring she paced herself while she ate. She swallowed every morsel as though she hadn’t eaten in days- a very real possibility. Anger surged through your veins, the fork in your hand bending from the force of your grip: Arthur Ketch would pay for what he’d done to her. You would make sure of that.

Rowena’s lilting brogue cut through the rising fury. “I don’t believe the cutlery has done anything to you, dear- no need to hold it quite so tight.”

Snapped back to the present, your gaze immediately settled on her busted lip and black eye. In a rush of guilt, you confessed, “I should have been there for you, Ro. Ketch and Asmodeus…they never should have been able to get you. When I think about what could have happened…”

“Enough,” she commanded, “there’s no sense in tormenting yourself with ‘could have’. I’m here now, that’s what matters.”

“But I should have-”

“No,” she cut in, her firm tone leaving no room for argument, “you listen to me: what happened, happened. Nothing will change that now. The only thing we can do is move forward, whether that means going into hiding, plotting our revenge, or both. But let me make one thing perfectly clear- I don’t blame you for my capture. I had my suspicions it wasn’t Fergus who called me up, but I went anyway. That was my fault, and mine alone. Even while I was locked away with that horrible man, I never once blamed you, or doubted that you would come for me.”

“I would do anything for you.”

“I know, as I would for you,” she replied, voice soft with emotions she rarely expressed. Taking her hand in yours, you pressed a gentle kiss to the palm. The room was quiet a moment before she added, “Now, I’ll hear no more talk of blame, understood?”

“Yes, love,” you replied with a weak grin.

“Good, because I’m tired and need my rest.”

Clearing away the dishes, you coaxed her under the blankets, fluffing the pillows just so. “Is this okay?”

“Better than. You know, I believe I could get used to this- being pampered suits me, I think.”

Laughing, you slipped out of your clothes, pulling her into your embrace. It wasn’t long before she was nodding off, her time in captivity and the day’s rescue taking its toll on her. By the light of the bedside lamp, you watched her sleep, studying her every feature. It was difficult to keep yourself from holding her tight, lest you cause her more pain. The knowledge of just how close you’d come to losing her forever tumbled over and over through your mind, the sight of Ketch looming over her sure to remain burned into your memory for the rest of your days.

Burying your face in her red locks, you pushed aside your dark thoughts, focusing instead on the woman in your arms. All that mattered now was that she was alive, her warm body curled against your chest. Brushing a tender kiss to across her forehead, you vowed to do everything in your power to keep her that way. Come Hell or high water, you’d do whatever it took to keep your witch safe.


End file.
